A Grubby Tale
by Blue Yeti
Summary: DEAD. A story about Grub Kelp, told from the POV of Grub Kelp. And I do know how pathetic the title is. Pretty much all about Grub, Trouble, and with a side order of Mummy.
1. A Grubby Tale

**Disclaimer:**  Grub, Troub, Mummy and everyone else belongs to Eoin Colfer.  I know it's sad to have written so many disclaimers lately, proving that I'm addicted to fanfic, but I'll keep on doing it.  I'm not making any money, only a small possible grade because I'm handing this in for English (we had to write something which we would enjoy writing), etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

**Glomps to:**

**Bonnie **(Stardust Firebolt) who got my creative juices back in the bottle just now, when I was fairly sure they had evaporated.

**Kitty Rainbow**, for ranting about Grub and Troub and their cuteness at every opportunity.

And **Grub**, for being such a cute character to write with.

My brother's a great guy, you know.  He's always sensible and he always knows exactly what to do.  He even knows what I should be doing, but when he tells me things I don't really listen to him.  But I know I should.  He's like our Ma, really.  All wise and knowledgeable, into books and things.  Most people don't think that Troub is much of a book-reader, thinking he's some senseless policeman, but they'd all be blown over like matchsticks if they knew how much my big bro reads.  He won't let anyone know that he likes books so much, of course - that would ruin his reputation - but he does like them.  He even did a literature course at one of the Haven Universities and got honours.  I was never good at school or reading at all and well... I know I'm not as bright as some other people are.  As most other people are.  I'm definitely not as bright as Trouble is.  Or as bright as Captain Short is!  She's brilliant when it comes to thinking!  And she's really pretty as well.  And, you know what, she might even _like_ me!  At least a tiny bit.  I took her and Troub in some coffee when they were discussing some big-shot strategy stuff and when I was leaving she peeked around Trouble and gave me a little wink!  She looks really pretty when she winks, like one of those Mud Men angels which Mummy once told me about.

            Or maybe she was letting me in on a secret!  But... I don't know what the secret was.  Maybe it wasn't much of a secret and only about how Trouble seems to babble on and on sometimes, because he doesdo that a _lot_.  Mummy's always telling him to stop it whenever he comes back home for Sunday dinner.  He moved out of home last year and into an apartment in the middle of the city.  It's a really nice apartment and sometimes he lets me stay overnight with him, which is really fun.  We stay up late watching movies that Mummy doesn't let me watch on my own and then sometimes we get some marshmallows and roast them over the stove in Trouble's kitchen.  And one of mine once melted onto the stove and we haven't been able to get it off since!

One time when I went over to Troub's place, some other fairies were there.  It was some of the other LEP people, but they were all officers who I don't think liked me very much.  Or maybe they just didn't know who I am – most people don't really know who I am.  They definitely didn't know that I'm Trouble's brother!  When I knocked on the door they answered and started making mean jokes about me being a boy-scout selling cookies and having spots all over my face.  (I used to be a boy-scout, actually - Mummy made me and Trouble join but it was fun, really.  Trouble just wouldn't let anyone else but me know that he liked it, but he did.)  The officers smelt like Daddy used to when he would come back late at night and then be mean to me and Mummy.  Trouble was always Daddy's favourite and was never picked on, except when he would stand up for us or get in the way of Daddy's punches.  Only then was Daddy rough with Troub, and not so rough that Trouble couldn't get away.  Daddy, he... I really like how Trouble stood up for me and Mummy when Daddy was like that.  Troub is so good to us, even though he doesn't have to be.

The men at Trouble's place let me come in, but they were being very scary, almost like some of the meaner Goblins that sometimes get into the cells for Disturbing the Peace.  I just stood in the corner, hoping they wouldn't really pay any attention to me, waiting for Trouble to get out of his shower.  But they didn't want to ignore me and they backed me further into the corner and then... I wet my pants I was so scared.  And they laughed at me some more, and then one of them threw a punch and it landed on the side of my nose and it hurt as much as my broken arm did when I was little and feel off some play equipment at pre-school.  I cried out and when Trouble heard me he came running out of the shower without even putting a towel over his ... you know ... _privates_.

And he beat them up so badly that they weren't even able to crawl out of there.  He was never friends with them again.  And they never picked on me again, even when I had to deliver stuff to them at the Plaza and Troub wasn't around.  Trouble was so angry that he even kicked one of the guys in the knackers - and I never would have thought that Trouble would do _that_.  That shows how much Trouble cares for me, even if he does brush me off sometimes to go and do things with other people.  I mean, not everyone's got a brother who would give up his mates and even kick his best mate where it hurts just to look after their little bro.  That's something _special_, that is.  

Mummy's always saying that both of us are special, but I know she thinks Trouble's specialier.  Trouble's ... one of a kind.  And well ... I'm not really all that smart and I can't really do much of anything - although I make a really nice chocolate pudding, the best there is, our Mummy says.  But that's not like Trouble who's so brave, and so smart, and such a good officer, and I don't think he _ever_ failed a Maths test in school.  And I ... I had to have special Maths tests made up for me because I was doing a stupid course.

The other boys used to tease me about that and I didn't really have any mates at school - other than my brother of course.  But they couldn't bash me up because then Troub would find out and then they would be in deep, deep _trouble_.  I would always say that and so they would only call me names or drop my books in the toilet or take my lunch money away, and that's better.  I was friends with a girl in the year below me for a little bit, but then she kept wanting to go and read in the library and I had pretended that I liked reading and then ... and then she found out that I can't really read all that good and she made some new friends with some people who had read as many books as she had.  When Daddy went away for good, people at school finally found out about what he'd been doing to us, and they...  Even though some people were nice to me and Trouble and one boy even let me sit with him, the bullies were even worse.  I think it was then that Trouble stopped having proper friends at school.  He was still popular and he still had friends in classes but he never sat with them at lunchtime.  He stayed and sat with me in a corner of the playground.  I didn't want to tell him that people just picked on me in class instead.

Trouble really put me before himself, even though I'm always embarrassing him or doing stupid things.  Even _I_ can tell that he doesn't always want me around, and I don't notice things as easily as other people do.  But that's just my brother for you - always sacrificing himself and helping other people, being courageous and self—self—whatever the opposite to selfish is!  I ... I appreciate all the things he's done for me over the years, I really do, and I wish he hadn't needed to do them.  I wish I were good enough to do some things for myself; good enough to not need Trouble's help so much.  It makes me feel so bad.  He doesn't have friends and he can't do all this stuff and ... he could if it wasn't for me.  I ... I feel terrible when he brushes me off to go and do other things, but I feel worse when he pretends he's enjoying an animated movie with me when he could be watching an action movie with a girlfriend.  He even got me my job for me because I couldn't get a job anywhere else.  But now he has to take responsibility for me because no one else at the LEP wants anything to do with 'that idiotic Corporal Kelp'.

I'm not as stupid as some people think.  Well, most of the time I am, but it's not as if I can't understand what they're saying.  That's how I found out about Trouble being MIA – Missing In Action.  They weren't going to tell me because they thought that I wouldn't be able to cope with it.  I was bringing in Root's pack of cigars and he was trying to get Captain Short to tell me about Troub.  He was giving her an order, but she kept on refusing – I could never do that.  She didn't want to be responsible for hurting me.  They were yelling at each other about it - things like: "He won't understand it when someone tells him, he doesn't know what that gang are _like_.  He'll be thinking that Captain Kelp will come back in a day, not in a matchbox!"  Things like:  "Someone has to tell him!  He idolises and loves his brother too much."  Things like: "Trouble would want you to tell him, Captain.  Kelp gets on with you, he's much too scared to listen to a word I say."  Things like:  "How about we just tell their mother and she can tell Grub when he gets home?"

Then they opened the door and I was still standing there, the packet of Root's noxious cigars crushed to a sweaty pulp in my hand.  And I ... I wanted to do what Trouble would do in the same situation, I wanted to be brave and powerful and I wanted the tears to be not on my face and ... I almost got what I wanted.  I didn't even know why, my brain wasn't involved at all, but I wanted to do something to prove that they were wrong about me and I did.  "I'll tell my mother about it, Commander, Captain.  Excuse me."  And that's all I said.  And I'm proud of myself, and Mummy's proud of me, and Troub'll be proud of me when he hears it.  _If_ he gets a chance to hear it.   

Maybe I was in shock or something, I know that I could never say something like that in front of either of them normally, but somehow I did.  But... I want my brother back more than I want to be brave.  More than I want something to be proud of, something to call my own.

I came back to the Plaza after I told Mummy.  And I've just been sitting in a hall chair for hours now, waiting for any news about my brother.  Everyone in the LEP is working harder than ever, and I know that the officers are pointing me out, sitting in my chair, telling them that they have to find Trouble for my sake.  I like that, I do.  Anything that means that I might get my brother back, even if they're saying that I'm weak and stupid.  Captain Short even came out and gave me a hug once, and Captain Newt brought me a cup of tea.  

But I just need Trouble back.


	2. Trouble in Paradise

**Dedicated to Fayra Lee, who's been bugging me for the continuations of Grubby's Tale since two days after I posted it.  She is very persistent.  Thank you.**

**Author's Note: **I give Trouble the pre-naming ritual name of Mulberry, a name which Kitty Rainbow first gave to him in her fic _Solace in the Dark._

Dear Whom-so-ever may care, if there is such a person.

Do you want me to tell you something?  I know you don't, but I want to tell you.  No, you probably don't know me, and I don't even know you.  We're on even footing on that front.  But do you want to know something small and insignificant about me so that you can analyse it then claim to know me?  Don't tell me you don't, because People always want to know about others, other's lives, other's failures, other's aspirations and inspirations and achievements.  It makes them feel better about themselves.  Why do you think Soap Operas are so successful and run for so many seasons?  And it all seems to work out, as people love telling others.  It's extremely cathartic.  Which is what I'm doing now, isn't it?

What to say?  What to bother saying?  What to pretend to bother to say, what to hide, what to say between the lines in the hopes that someone will one day be able to understand?  If anyone ever gets to see this, which I don't think they will, realistically speaking - _writing_.

Now, for the fact that you never wanted to hear, not consciously, only wanting to know at the level of the medieval beast that laughs at the pain of others, is fascinated by blood, and gleefully passes on a nasty piece of untrue gossip about soandso and soandso:  The best and worst things I've ever done in my life have directly been because of my brother.  Interesting, isn't it?  It'll make more sense – the statement will have more impact - if you know more about him.  I'll tell you later.  I'll stick to one thing at a time.  So… Not many people can say that, that both their best and their worst is brought out by a single person, and a family member at that, not many people at all.  The best things morally have been because of him, the worst acts, the worst thoughts even, have been because of him.  My life has always been completely unbalanced because of Grub, and it's not that I wouldn't have it any other way (because I most certainly would - that was my one wish when I was younger and less knowledgeable), but it's that I've adapted so that it no longer outwardly matters to me.

It does still, but I don't tell anyone about that.

Okay, best things I've ever done.  There aren't that many to tell the truth, contrary to popular thought on the subject.  Not good things done for a pure reason.  But… I can't think of anything at all.  Everything has a selfish layer attached, buried deep beneath the smiles and overacted charm.  But isn't that with everything, with everyone.

Like joining the LEP.  That was a selfish act.  Not because of the pay (which is absolutely shocking – I used to accuse Root - my Commander - about that for a while, before I found out that he only gets twelve dollars more than a captain per week), or because of the idea of girls being attracted to men in uniforms (which is just … wrong.  I'll get onto that later).  I joined the Force so that Grub would look up at me, so that Grub would think of me as a good person.  Most people wouldn't understand why the opinions of a retarded kid matters so much to me, but they obviously don't have much contact with the child-like and the innocent - since contact with those innocents make us readjust our own values because they highlight the wrong in us.  They always do.  Children are the greatest judge of us, and it's so hard to knowingly ruin their ideals.  Almost impossible.  The guilt keeps you all on the straight and narrow.

The innocent are the best scale to judge yourself and your acts by.  And I wanted to be proven _good_.

So I joined the LEP because of Grub's wide brown eyes looking up at me.  And later he was only able to join it because of me; by the time he was old enough for a job (later than anyone else) I was already influential enough to cover his tracks and pulls strings, whispering words like 'public opinions' and 'good for the Force's reputation' into the over-large ears of the Council members.

They didn't really want someone who was 'Special', but they wanted the good PR.

I hate the word special.  It has so many meanings, and none of them seem to do the word justice.  It's so used and abused, talking about lost marriages and new shoes and poor human souls all in the same breath.  It's too short a word to use when talking about living people who through accident or fate or karma can't learn and can't get jobs and can't read and can't have relationships, and perhaps can't even walk…  And almost definitely can't _live_.  They are the most looked down upon in society, and everyday fairies feel better about it all by saying they are special and by putting them into – _ha!_ - specialist care.    

I hate the way society works.  And how people lie.  And how people lie to children and expect them to accept it all without question.  How they water things down so that it can be given in understandable doses until the actual object doesn't matter anymore.  And how they think – hope – that a child in the wrong place at the wrong time will forget the incident completely.

My mother thinks that I don't remember Annie.  But I do.  Oh, _God_, I do!  She was so beautiful, and so incredibly small… Even for a fairy-babe.

If you could see me right now, you'd see me laughing.  Or not.  After thinking of Annie I'm almost crying.  But I laugh about God, in a cynical, depressed way.  God is such a good person to blame it all on.  It's his fault that Annie is not here, although he was working through a person down here.  But he doesn't file lawsuits when someone puts his name on something.  And to think that deities are yet another thing we've leached off the Mud Men.  They have such imaginations, we can't hope to compare with them in that respect.

I used to have an imagination.  I drew pictures of superheroes and the world Above in brightly coloured crayons when I was young.  Then, somewhere along the line, sometime just after Annie, I stopped drawing almost completely.  The only time I'd pick up a pen would be to write a memo or sign something.  Once I tried to start drawing again, but after a few hopeless, hapless, lines I realized how hopeless it was and carefully put my coloured pencils away.

Listen to me, you wouldn't think that I'd be talking about crayons when I know I'm so close to death that the only thing left that's debatable is when it's going to happen.  But being captive gives you a lot of time to think, I've learnt.  And if you only use that horribly long time to just lament over what you should have done and didn't, what was going to happen… Then you'd go mad long before you got a metal bowl of horrible gruel for dinner.

I think I might be mad already.  I certainly _feel _like I'm mad.  Am I mad?  Is anyone mad?  Does it matter either way?

I don't think it does.  It can't.  Being mad is an advantage in this world.  If you're mad you don't notice when politicians don't keep their promises, you don't see that reality as unchangeable, and so you don't feel despair, can't see the reason for it, even when the world about you is ruined.

I wonder what Grub's thinking right now - about me being here, so far, so close, so gone.  I wonder if anyone's even told him.  I don't know how long it's been since my capture, whether or not someone would have had to tell him, probably our Mother – the time has blurred because of spurts of unconsciousness and irregular meals, and my cell is in some desolated place so I can't hear activity out in the city and judge time by the noise.

Or maybe I'm not even in the city anymore.  Maybe they transported me when I'd first blacked out from the fighting.

I hate trying to piece this all together!  I didn't become a copper because I wanted to solve mysteries.  I'm not in the Investigation Division.  I only became a copper because my father was one and Grub wanted me to.

Is that enough of a reason to do something like this?  Is that enough of a reason to have a job that puts pains in your heart every time you even so much as think of it?  A job that used to make you feel physically sick when the time came to go to work in the evening, until you became immune to the feeling, the horror of what was happening around you.

I've learnt too much about People since I became a copper.  I knew too much, had seen too much, even before.  But now, I can't imagine that there's good out there.  Grub's good, he's a good person.  But society…  And people wonder why Root's such an asshole?

I hate this.  Being here, unknowing yet knowing. I don't know where I am, I don't know what's going to happen to me, I don't know who's in charge or any of the whys.  But I know that in all probability I'm going to die, and that next time the guard comes in here I might get a meal, but I'll definitely get a slug to the gut.  

I wish I had something to do here, something which made it seem like I wasn't wasting my time and my days, however long I've been here and will be here.  Thinking takes too much emotional energy, and all I want to do is turn my brain off, I don't want to think about Mum, or Grub, or myself and the chances of getting out of here.  I don't want to think about work, and I never have done.  I don't want to think about friends of mine, or anything else.  I don't want to think.  Not at all.  I almost don't want to have ever been able to think, because it's just all too hard.

TV is something which is inane, no mental interaction needed.  In that way it's soothing, so relaxing.  There's been a recent influx of TV shows to do with Crime.  It's romantisied, valiant, brave… and always has a happy ending.  It doesn't really happen like that.  Yes, sometimes we catch them, they go to gaol, but most of the time we end up putting the file, the pictures of victims and blown-up copies of fingerprints in the 'Unsolved' file in the Plaza.  The Unsolved is far larger than the Solved.  Even though the Solved generally has more information on each case. People don't realize that.  They can't see the logical, because their minds are conditioned into not seeing what they don't want to see, what they can't cope with.  That's why no one ever sees Grub, not really.

I guess I've explained about Grub now, and if not in direct words, you know about him anyway.  He's 73, with the mental age of a 20-year-old, and he'll never be older.  But, he has never really had innocence.  People think that innocence leaves when maturity sets in, but it doesn't work like that.  He stills believes in Good with a capital G, he's still got that, but he knows things.  He listens.  People don't censor what they say around him, they think it's not necessary, so he hears it all and stores it somewhere in his not-properly formed brain.  It was magic deprivation that did it.  People don't know that it can do that.  That the magic is so essential for us that if we don't have it we can die, loose our sight, have defective areas of our bodies.  

Well, it doesn't matter now.  There's nothing we can do about it, not now.

If you see my brother, tell him I said hi.  I love him, really, I do.  He's usually somewhere in Police Plaza, Haven, taking files around to be signed.  He likes doing that.  He feels like he's making a difference.

He wanted to become a policeman for all the noble reasons.  He's a noble person.

I'm not.

I'm a selfish bastard who doesn't stop whining.  A kid who chose 'Trouble' as my name over Mulberry because I thought it made me sound hard.  Who has it all so good but can't see that.  I'm learning though, I'm learning off a 73-year-old idiot who still gets muddled when tying his laces sometimes.

From,

Captain Trouble Kelp, LEP.   


End file.
